Fragile moments

Friday 6.15am

I have a small luxury in my life. Most, if not every morning, I awake first. At quarter to six my alarm goes off and accompanied by the cats getting up I get out of bed. I put the kettle on, feed the cats, and get the fire going again to warm the house for everybody else getting up in another hour. Now I pour a cup of tea and some orange juice for Nicola, open the bedroom curtains a little and go back to bed. This is my luxury. The house is quiet, our bed is still a warm cocoon, Buffy the cat comes to join me and I can lie there drinking tea and watching the dawn for quarter of an hour or so before getting up properly. It is an optimistic time of day. There are things to do, places to be, but not just yet. The cat is purring, Nicola is breathing softly beside me. There is a chill in the air and my hands are cold but the warmth of my teacup is seeping through.

The moment is fragile and will soon wilt like a flower, but just for now, all is good.